


'Cos the Bible tells me so

by tahirire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s04e04 Metamorphosis, Gen, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-11
Updated: 2008-10-11
Packaged: 2017-10-25 15:55:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tahirire/pseuds/tahirire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean looks wherever he can for answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Cos the Bible tells me so

'Cos the Bible tells me so

 

One thing about motels is that they _always_ have a Bible.

Dean tore through Revelation in no time, checked the index, and detoured to the Old Testament for some accounts of angels engaging in serious _not apocalypse action_.

Castiel was unnerving enough before that. After, Dean was seriously starting to rethink his attitude.

Sam sat silently, clicking on his laptop. He’d been quiet, avoiding Dean since Dean learned the truth. Maybe he was embarrassed, maybe he was angry, Dean didn’t know. But he was quiet, and Dean was over it.

“Whatcha doin’?” He asked, rubbing his eyes and setting the Bible down. He’d moved from stories about angels to chronicles of heroes, and some of those guys could really kick some ass.

Sam shrugged slightly in response, never looking up from the screen. His hunched shoulders and bowed head gave him a diminished appearance, but Dean could almost feel the undercurrent of power flowing through his brother. It set his nerves on edge, and Sam knew it. He was barely willing to lock eyes with Dean at all, and when he did, all Dean saw behind them was guilt.

Dean blew out a frustrated sigh. He’d never be able to help Sam if Sam didn’t talk to him, and for maybe the first time ever, Sam didn’t want to talk.

If only he knew how to strip the power from Sam. Some kind of cleansing ritual, maybe. Sam had turned his back on his abilities, but somehow Dean knew it was only a matter of time before circumstances dictated that he rely on them again.

That’s how things go when you’re a Winchester.

Dean leaned back to the Bible in his lap. Tales of the mighty men were scrawled across the pages.

 _These be the names of the mighty men whom David had: The Tachmonite that sat in the seat, chief among the captains; the same was Adino the Eznite: he lifted up his spear against eight hundred, whom he slew at one time._

Dean smiled appreciatively. He bookmarked the passage, planning to come back later when he had more free time. Any dude who could gank 800 guys in one go was alright by him.

 _Second Samuel_. Images of the first Samuel, eyes bright and yellow, flashed through his mind, and Dean fought down a totally unjustified chill. Sure, Revelation seemed to be relevant in their lives all of a sudden, but if he tied every little thing he read back to Sam he’d go nuts.

~*~

The first two days of skulking were bad enough. By the end of the week, Dean was going stir crazy – not just from feeling helpless in his current quest, but from the _quiet_. In the thickness of the silence, Dean was becoming nervous in a way he’d never been before. He didn’t want to admit it to anyone, least of all himself, but his thoughts strayed in those times, and he was remembering more about the last five months than he really wanted to know.

“Sammy, dammit, talk to me. I …” He trailed off at the wounded flinch Sam gave at the sound of his voice. He took a step back, raising his palms, gesturing peace. “Man, please. _Please_.”

Sam turned his back on Dean, looking out the window and into the parking lot. His fingers gripped the ends of his jacket sleeves, and his shoulders were tense beneath the fabric. He mumbled something unintelligible, but Dean could hear the tone. He knew that tone; it was the low, graveled pitch of Sam trying really valiantly not to cry.

Great.

“Didn’t quite hear –“he started.

“ _Dead_ , Dean. You were dead, alright?” The wavering tone in Sam’s voice vanished, and he was right into Dean’s space so fast Dean hadn’t registered it happening. He found himself taking an involuntary step back at the force of Sam’s sudden rage. He opened his mouth to speak, but Sam’s presence overpowered him. “And I’m sorry,” Sam was saying, “I’m sorry I lied, God, Dean – I never wanted to lie, ok, but you were _dead_ and I tried everything and you weren’t coming back, I tried and I couldn’t, I couldn’t save you!”

“Sam, it’s ok, man, I didn’t –“ Sam shoved him then, hard, and he stumbled back, losing his footing and tipping over to sit on the bed.

“No, Dean, it’s _not_ ok! You just don’t get it, do you? You were dead. I tried _everything_. When …” He stepped back, leaning against the wall for support, and the tremble returned, his voice lowering as he whispered, “when I was … you didn’t last a week. So don’t tell me how it’s ok.”

Dean swallowed around the tightness in his throat. Thing was, he wasn’t thinking when he brought Sam back, wasn’t thinking about Sam’s bigger destiny, not even about Sam’s happiness. He was only thinking about how life without Sam wasn’t worth living, and in the end, he’d damned them both.

Sam’s eyes were closed now, and he was breathing carefully, as though he’d forgotten how. He continued with a ragged determination. “And now … I just. It was working, and it’s.” He looked Dean in the eye then, willing him to understand. “I was helping people, Dean. I thought… anyway, now I can’t anymore and it’s like – God, Dean, you don’t know how it feels!” Sam’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “Dean, it was the only thing keeping me alive.”

Dean held his gaze, kept his face open and earnest, let all of his concern and sympathy pour through, because that was all he could think to do.

~*~

“Sam, c’mere, look at this.”

Sam crossed the room easily, some of the tension gone from the lines of his shoulders, his face more relaxed since finally venting earlier. “What’s up?”

Dean hesitated, because he wasn’t sure what exactly he’d found, or how it would go over, and the last thing he wanted was for Sam to crawl back into his unreachable corner of the world and leave him all alone again. “So I, uh.” He began eloquently. Sam raised his eyebrows a little and grinned in response.

Dean tried again. “I’ve been reading about angels, you know.” Sam nodded, waiting patiently for the point. “Anyway, I found this.” He tossed Bobby’s copy of _The Torah – A Modern Commentary_ into Sam’s lap, pointed to page 859, and leaned back in his chair to wait.

Sam’s amused smile vanished as he scanned the page, looking for whatever had caught Dean’s attention. He devoured the text with rapt attention, frown growing deeper and deeper as he saw what Dean had seen.

When he raised his eyes to meet Dean’s, he looked puzzled. “But I …“ he stopped short, comprehension dawning in his hazel eyes. Dean held his breath. “Dean, do you really think?”

“Yeah, maybe. I mean, some of it fits. Yellow-eyes appeared to you in a dream, right?” He asked. Sam nodded numbly. “Well, that’s how Cas comes to me sometimes.”

“And he was immune,” Sam breathed. “to the Holy water, remember? And you said Castiel was immune to everything you threw at him, right?” Dean smiled in acknowledgement.

“Yeah, Sammy, just like how you’re immune to things.” Dean said. “Listen, I don’t know what this means, alright? If Yellow-eyes really was a fallen angel - ”

“Then I might not have demon blood in me at all!” Sam interrupted, his voice eager. “I mean, it’s still not a good thing, but maybe this means I have a chance, you know? To change things.” The hopeful pleading in his eyes made Dean’s chest clench.

“I hope so, kid. Just be careful, alright? Cas said he didn’t know what you were capable of. It could be that this is why – that maybe it’s even more dangerous. That nothing like this has ever happened before.” He didn’t want to say it, but he had to keep Sam grounded.

But Sam just blew a sigh of relief. “I know. Don’t worry, ok? I said I’m done and I meant it. Just – maybe we can find a way out of this, you know?” He offered Dean an almost bashful grin. “Thanks, Dean.”

Sam stood, more relaxed than Dean had seen him in the last month, and strode across to his laptop, pulling out the worn out motel chair and settling in to work with a newfound enthusiasm.

Dean eyed Sam carefully, taking stock. Angel blood, demon blood; Sam was his blood, and that was all he needed to know. Dean reached for the Bible again, picking up his study of the story of Samson.

As he read, he found his eyes flicking constantly to Sam at the laptop, his long hair brushing the collar of his shirt. Maybe there were other ways they could try to strip the power. Simpler ways.

Dean grinned. It was high time he made a trip to the grocery store – and if some Nair made it into Sam’s shampoo, well, this time, he could say God made him do it.


End file.
